


The Map Is The Territory

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Bottom Hannibal, Bottom Will, Crying Hannibal, Episode AU: s03e07 Digestivo, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex, Science Fiction, Sexual Frustration, Switching, Time Travel, Top Hannibal, Top Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 09:06:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6148522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU where Hannibal's quantum field theory equations produce better results than in the canon. Then smut, obviously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Map Is The Territory

Before he took care of anything else, Hannibal pulled back the grate from in front of the fireplace. At the moment, it was just as cold inside the house as outside it, and Hannibal wanted it warm and cozy, for Will's comfort. So he laid an unconscious Will on the bed in the front room – just a bare mattress at the present time – while he built a roaring fire. 

Still freezing, but satisfied that the house would soon warm up, Hannibal left Will alone for just a moment, to draw a hot bath. Will had left most things as they were, before he had left on his sea journey, so Hannibal easily located soap and towels. Hannibal returned to Will to undress him while the water ran, and then, ignoring his own pain and discomfort, picked Will up once more, carrying him into the bathroom. 

This was the second time in a week that Hannibal was bathing an unconscious Will, and he felt that he could not be blamed for finding the practice habit-forming. Will's scars and wounds only enhanced his natural physical beauty, in Hannibal's eyes. It took all of his self-restraint to remain aloof, professional, about his task. He did not feel guilty in the least about looking his fill, but no matter how intensely he desired Will, he felt that he must not take advantage of him in this situation. He allowed himself a moment’s indulgence in the thought that it wouldn’t do any harm to just drop a chaste little kiss on Will’s wounded shoulder, or his cheek, but no, he could not allow himself even that. With a soft cloth, he gently washed the sweat and blood from every inch of Will, but he did not once touch Will's most private areas, nor his exquisite scar tissue, with bare hands. Only with the cloth. Hannibal held fast to his resolution that Will would offer his body for Hannibal's pleasure willingly, or not at all. 

When Will was clean, Hannibal inspected his most recent wounds for signs of infection, but found none, to his relief. He drained the tub, then dried Will off inside it, rather than trying to lift him sopping wet from a full bath. The clean white towel became stained here and there by Will's blood; Hannibal found the first aid kit so he could tidy and dress the cuts that still oozed. 

He found sheets and blankets in the linen closet and made up the bed, then brought in Will, who was now mumbling the occasional word before drifting off again. The fire, blazing, had warmed the room considerably. Hannibal laid Will on the bed, considering tucking him in as he was, but deciding that Will might find it disconcerting to regain consciousness while naked. From the bureau he took a soft button-down shirt and flannel pajama bottoms, and dressed Will in them. 

Only when he had finished lovingly putting Will to bed did he spare a thought for his own well-being. Aching, burning, stinging, and bleeding, he returned to the bathroom to shower and dress his own wounds, all with speed and efficiency, for he longed to return to Will's bedside. 

He did not much care to redress in the soiled stolen clothes he had arrived in, so he had a look around the house for clothes that might fit him. Trousers wouldn't be as difficult, as the extra height he had on Will was mainly in his torso, but his broader chest and shoulders might present a problem. As he looked in drawers and closets, he paid particular attention to those items shoved into corners, furthest from reach. They would most likely be suitable for wear but ill-fitting to Will, gifts from well-meaning relatives that he did not wish to just throw out. And indeed, Hannibal found a too-big sweater hanging up in a closet, which he paired with a t-shirt that was admittedly tight, trousers that were only the slightest bit too short, and, though he fully acknowledged the awkwardness of it, a pair of boxers that he hoped Will would not begrudge him. He felt a thousand times better, freshly-scrubbed and fully-dressed. Will was sleeping peacefully, and the sun was just coming up. 

Perusing the shelves for something to read while he waited for Will to wake, Hannibal spotted a plain leather-bound book with no title on the spine. He pulled it from the shelf to get a better look at it. It turned out to not be a book at all, but a journal. Perhaps it, too, was a gift that Will had found ill-fitting. Opening it, Hannibal saw that Will had made a few half-hearted entries, several years ago, but most of the journal was blank. Hannibal found a pencil, then sat in an armchair at the foot of Will's bed, to work on the thing that he had been thinking about when he had needed something to occupy his mind on the flight from Italy to the Verger mansion. 

_Where G 1/mv =2mAa/y-2vA_ , wrote Hannibal. 

He continued writing these equations while Will slept. Occasionally he would look up, to admire Will's peaceful expression and soft snores. Then he would continue with his work. Briefly, he napped. When he woke, he wrote, _Fmv=2mAv-2vA_. 

How soon the FBI would arrive depended on a number of factors: whether Jack Crawford had survived, and if so, how soon he could get to a telephone; and if not, when someone from the Verger estate alerted the authorities. Not Alana or Margot, and not Cordell. They were too smart. But sooner or later, someone would think they were solving a problem by reporting to the police that Will and Hannibal had returned to the States. And then...it would only be a matter of time. 

But he knew that they would make it to at least – Hannibal checked the clock at Will's bedside – 2:37 PM, without police interference. At the very bottom of the page, Hannibal wrote, _And L gauge/4=g3A_. 

Nothing seemed to have happened. He perceived no change. But then he glanced at the clock: 

2:36 

Hannibal watched the clock for nearly a full minute, and then saw it: 

2:35 

He stood up, still holding the book, and looked out the window. A brown leaf fell from the snow up into a tree branch. Hannibal listened. Will's little snore sounded like it was being played backwards. 

Hannibal pondered this for a short while, then picked up the pencil and erased the last of his figures. He watched the clock again. 

2:34 

2:35 

2:36 

He sat on the bed, careful not to disturb Will with the shifting of the mattress, then slid the journal under Will's hand, where it rested on the bedspread. He wrote again, _And L gauge/4=g3A_. 

The clock moved backwards again, to 2:35. On the other side of the window, the leaf fell up again. But this time, Will's snore sounded the same as it had all day. 

This was good, but not as good as he had hoped. Time was reversing, for those who were in physical contact with his written efforts, but it was doing so at the same speed at which it moved forward. Hannibal contemplated the practicality of reversing time until that night in his kitchen, with Will and Abigail. There was little chance that he could succeed at that task. He could easily, however, reverse time until dawn, when he had put Will to bed. 

Hannibal made sure that Will's hand was still on the pages of the journal. He wanted to keep Will inside the bubble, keep time moving forward for him, so that he could get all the sleep he needed. In the meantime, Hannibal took up another book with his free hand, and read it in its entirety. 

The room began to dim as the sun set – well, as it rose. Will stirred. Hannibal suddenly remembered his own hunger, then thought of Will's. He went into the kitchen, expecting to find a few stray cans left behind when Will set off on his journey. His expectation was met. He returned to the front room twenty minutes later carrying two trays, upon each of which was a bowl of soup and a glass of water. Will inhaled deeply as he opened his eyes. 

Hannibal said nothing, but lifted his chin slightly to indicate that Will should sit up. Once he had done so, Hannibal placed the tray in his lap. They ate in silence, Hannibal having returned to the chair he'd been sitting in all day. 

When they had finished, Hannibal took the trays back into the kitchen and did the washing up. It would be rude to leave Will with dirty dishes in his sink. 

Only when he had finished this task and come back into the front room did he ask Will, “How are you feeling?” 

Will cleared his throat. “I suppose I'll make it,” he said. 

“Indeed.” 

Rather than return to the chair, Hannibal knelt at Will’s bedside. Will kept his gaze on the fireplace for a while, hesitant to look at Hannibal. At last, Hannibal addressed him, and Will let his head loll to the side, giving Hannibal his attention. His stare was challenging; He seemed to know what Hannibal was going to say, and he wasn’t particularly interested in hearing it. Hannibal forged ahead nonetheless. 

“You have already endured so much, and I hesitate to ask any more of you.” 

Will’s hooded, unimpressed eyes said, _But you’re going to power through it, hm?_

“This is the end for me,” Hannibal continued, with more resignation in his voice than Will had ever thought it possible to hear from someone so seemingly indefatigable. His expression softened as Hannibal went on: “I can't run any longer. Soon you will be free of me, once and for all. But before I go, I must at least ask this – that knowing this will be our last meeting, you allow me into your bed. It would be a great consolation to me, but only if you desire it also.” 

Will said nothing, and the look in his eyes was ambiguous. Hannibal gently took Will’s hand, squeezed it in both of his own. “Please,” he said. “Let me take the memory of your breath, your body, with me when I go.” 

Will squeezed Hannibal’s hands back, just for an instant. Then, at last, he reached out with his other hand to cup the side of Hannibal's face, his thumb brushing over Hannibal's cheekbone. 

“I wish to hell you'd just come out and asked me if I wanted to screw three years ago,” he said. “It would have saved us both a lot of trouble.” 

Hannibal closed his eyes, nuzzled into Will's hand. “I wish that too,” he sighed. 

Will dropped his hand to the bedspread, lifting it up by the corner. “Well, climb in, if you think we'll have time before the feds show up.” 

“I think we will, yes,” Hannibal replied. He stood up, removing his sweater and trousers so that he slid in next to Will in only a t-shirt and boxers. If Will recognized his own clothes, he said nothing. 

When he had imagined it – and he had done so often – Hannibal had pictured himself rolling Will around on his own enormous bed, sumptuous and sturdy, in his well-appointed bedroom, not in Will's spartan bed, little more than a cot. But that did not discourage him. Having been given this chance, he took nothing for granted, made no presumptions. When he slipped between Will's sheets, he scooted up close, but left it to Will to close the remaining distance. Will did so with some hesitation, but Hannibal sensed no resistance; Will simply did not appear to know what to do next. He reached out to touch Hannibal's face, then halted, as if remembering that he had done that only a moment ago, and should do something different now. So instead he rested his hand on Hannibal's bicep, moving up slightly to caress his shoulder, then down the length of his arm. Hannibal caught Will's hand in his own and drew it down to place it on his chest, encouraging Will to feel his heartbeat. 

Even these simple touches thrilled Hannibal, as he basked in Will's nearness. He was in no hurry – after all, without a crescendo, a symphony is just blaring noise. He wanted to just enjoy sharing the warmth of Will's body, until it felt normal, until it felt like they'd been doing this for years. He wouldn't attack Will in a frenzy any more than he would discard his fork and eat _gigot d'agneau pleureur_ with his bare hands. 

He gazed at Will, who shyly glanced down, only to find that he was now looking at Hannibal’s mouth. Hannibal smiled at what he knew would come next. Will moved closer still, so he could press his lips to Hannibal's. Hannibal kissed back, with just a fraction more intensity, encouraging Will to react in kind, to be bolder. He wished for kisses that were deep and wet, and goaded Will until he got what he wanted, as Will suddenly surrendered to the desire surging within him, licking into Hannibal's mouth, his tongue against Hannibal's teeth and tongue. The kisses made Hannibal’s prick twitch just as hard as if Will had been stroking it. 

But then, Will was pulling back, tugging on Hannibal's shirt-sleeve, silently asking him to be the aggressor. Hannibal could not resist, and pushed himself half on top of Will as he pressed hard, sustained kisses to Will's throat, feeling with his lips the veins palpitating there. 

Will snuck a hand between their bodies to feel more of Hannibal's chest and belly, though he did so over the fabric of his t-shirt. Hannibal smiled against Will's neck at this timidity: what was Will afraid of doing? And did he believe it didn't _count_ if he did it over the shirt? But he remained happily patient, carefully cultivating Will's lust, encouraging him to forget his conflicted feelings. 

But when Will made the first tentative poke with his fingers under he hem of Hannibal's shirt, Hannibal reciprocated with far more decisiveness, burying his hand under Will's shirt and helping himself to handfuls of warm, soft flesh. It was only then that Will shoved both his hands under Hannibal's shirt to feel the dense fur across his chest and down his belly. And when he'd had his fill, at least for the time being, he wrapped his arms around Hannibal and caressed the smooth skin over the hard muscles of his back. 

“You carried me,” Will said. “I don't remember anything...but I remember that you carried me.” 

Hannibal smiled at him, though his gaze was still fixed firmly on Will’s delectable mouth. “I did.” 

Now they were belly-to-belly, and their erections poked each other. The first inadvertent prods provoked a flinch and a laugh from both men, who then held each other even tighter. Hannibal reached down – slowly, telegraphing his intention – and cupped Will's hardness through his boxers, felt the little damp spot there. He plucked gently at the waistband, and Will covered Hannibal's hand with his own, then slid the boxers down himself, bending at the waist and knees to make it easier to push them all the way off. Hannibal did the same for himself. 

Their shirts were a little trickier. They both tried to get them off each other without fully sitting up or getting out from under the covers. Hannibal was trying to undo all of Will's buttons while Will was trying to pull the t-shirt over Hannibal's head. There was some entanglement, some laughter. They grinned sheepishly at each other, to acknowledge their greed for each other's bare skin. It delighted Hannibal to see Will so filled with mirth. 

They returned to their sultry embrace, their skin beginning to get tacky with sweat. Their cocks rubbed between their bellies, and that felt good and sweet. Their hands roamed wherever they could easily slide or sneak. Hannibal helped himself to every inch within reach, only relenting when Will began to touch him more urgently, in turn; he then dropped his hands so they wouldn't get in the way of Will's venturing. Will lingered over Hannibal's flanks and belly before he at last grasped Hannibal's cock, which was by now rigid and thrumming. He squeezed it, felt Hannibal’s heartbeat in it. Hannibal had a moment of panic when Will's brow furrowed, but the next thing Will did was put his other hand on his own cock, sliding his hands up and down both, gripping them. 

“I think yours is bigger than mine,” Will said flatly. 

“Is that important?” 

“I guess not.” 

Hannibal moved to lift the blanket. “Do you want to look?” 

Will took his hand off Hannibal's prick to pull the blanket back down. “No! It's cold out there.” He said no more about it, and continued stroking Hannibal. Beneath the petal-soft foreskin, Will could feel the high ridge of the crown, the well-defined glans. When he pushed the foreskin back, he found the tip wet and slippery. 

Hannibal found Will's attention exquisite, but he was more eager to reciprocate. Crowding out Will's hand with his own, for the first time Hannibal stroked Will's cock with his bare hands, hefted it, squeezed it. He touched Will as intuitively as if he were touching himself, eliciting soft hums and groans from Will. He reached a little farther down to fondle Will's balls, then slid his hand back over Will's hip to cup one firm, round buttock. Will made a little “Oh” sound, then said, “Um, are we...” 

Before he finished, before Hannibal could respond to what he suspected Will was asking, Will pulled away, just long enough to open the nightstand drawer and pull out a squeeze-bottle. “Are we going to need this?” he asked, handing it over. 

Hannibal examined the label, then examined Will's apprehensive expression. He slipped the bottle under the pillow, for safekeeping. “Best to be prepared for every eventuality,” he said mildly. He then returned his attention to touching Will all over. With reverence and ardor he made a feast of Will's warm, tingling flesh, devouring him with kisses and caresses. Slowly, so slowly that Will did not at first realize what was happening, Hannibal made his way down Will's body, trailing over his shoulders and collarbones, lingering over his soft pink nipples, disappearing under the blankets to nibble at the flesh over his ribs. When he got low enough, he even licked into Will's belly button, which made him giggle. But things quickly became serious again, as Will got a full-body shiver from Hannibal's warm, even breaths on his cock. 

Hannibal had a plan, now, and he placed a hand on Will's hip to keep him lying on his side, even though the angle was more awkward for him, as he drew Will's shaft into his mouth. He started slow, with soft suction and delicate licks, aiming to tease Will mercilessly for his own amusement. He could feel the tension in Will's body: the urge to thrust, the self-control he was exerting so that he wouldn't. Hannibal rewarded his restraint by taking him deeper. He sucked and slurped, unembarrassed about the noise. 

When Will was well and fully entranced by the warm wetness of Hannibal's mouth, Hannibal reached up for the bottle, bringing it back down under the covers with him, all the while never letting Will slip from his mouth. He squeezed some of its contents onto his first two fingers, then wrapped his arm around Will's hip and probed between his cheeks until he found the little pucker. 

Will's small nonverbal sounds were suddenly pitched higher. His hole clenched reflexively, barring Hannibal's entrance. But Hannibal was not deterred. He pressed gently, then retreated, rubbing all around, kneading against Will's perineum, all the while continuing to suck and lick him with sloppy enthusiasm. A few minutes of this, and it happened: Will’s body ceased its resistance and opened itself up. 

Hannibal's finger was firmly in Will's grip now, and rather than make an attempt for the greatest depth, Hannibal kept it shallow, probing against Will's inner walls. With the tip of his second finger, he rubbed the rim a little, and then, when he believed that Will had become sufficiently acclimated to the first finger, pushed the second one in alongside. Feeling past the initial tightness, Hannibal sought along the curve of his insides for his prostate. Will's sudden noises of incredulous pleasure were a more obvious indicator of his success than the bump of the gland itself. 

Will was confounded by this acute, piercing attention. Hannibal's touch had suddenly become devastatingly intimate, and if Will had thought he was prepared for it, he was wrong. Before long, the unnerving sensations were coalescing into bolts of pleasure. “Uhm...Hannibal,” Will said, with a warning tone. “That makes me feel like I'm gonna come.” 

Perhaps Will was just being polite, worried that he might offend Hannibal if he came in his mouth. This was not the case, but still, Hannibal was glad Will had warned him, because he did not want Will to come just yet, and not that way. He leisurely removed his fingers, just as gradually sliding Will's shaft out of his mouth, and got up on his hands and knees, straddling Will as he urged him to lie flat on his back. He took one of Will's hands and placed it on his own cock, which ached for attention. 

“How do you feel about having this inside you?” he asked. 

Will seemed intimidated by the idea, but said, “We can try.” 

“That's the spirit.” With both hands, Hannibal gently rearranged Will's limbs, so that he was was kneeling between Will's splayed thighs. He fished under the blankets until he found the bottle of lube, and squeezed out a generous amount to apply to his cock. 

They were still under the covers, and doing everything by feel. So first, Hannibal felt under Will’s cock and balls to find the spot with his thumb, then placed the tip of his cock alongside, nudging and nuzzling at Will’s hole with it. Will put his hands on Hannibal's shoulders, as if to show that he was ready to accept him, and so Hannibal sank in deep, all the way, syrupy-slow, with a final little nudge to get himself in to the root. 

Everything was hot and wet and ticklish, and only now was Will realizing how thoroughly Hannibal had opened him up, how deeply Hannibal could delve inside him. And even then, he was distracted from this alarming revelation by what happened next: Hannibal lowered his head to bury his face in Will's neck, and his whole body seemed to quiver, once, twice. Will moved to wrap his arms around Hannibal, unsure of what was happening or what he should do about it. Only when Hannibal shifted did the cool air hit the still-wet tears on the skin over Will's collarbone. 

But Hannibal carried on, shoving his hands under Will's armpits and then hooking them over Will's shoulders, wanting to be as close to him as possible, every inch of him. His first few thrusts were slow and lush, as though he only had a predetermined allotment, and wanted to enjoy each one to the fullest extent possible. 

Will wanted to say it felt strange, but he couldn’t form the words. Instead, he just panted at the difficulty of having Hannibal there, so heavily atop him as well as inside of him. It was not painful, just too intense to process. Between heavy, rhythmic lunges, Hannibal made eye contact with him, tilting his head to encourage Will to speak to him. Finally, Will cried out, “I feel so open.” 

These words excited Hannibal, who smiled and drove yet more deeply inside. “Yes, you do. Move around a little, that way you can really feel it.” 

Will was pretty sure he was already feeling everything possible, but he did try shifting back and forth, up and down, seeking the alignment that would cause everything to fall into place so he could experience unadulterated pleasure. Admittedly, Hannibal's instruction that Will do this was not entirely altruistic; the more Will squirmed and twisted, the more Hannibal enjoyed him. 

At last, Hannibal saw fit to prop himself up slightly, giving Will some breathing room. He picked up the bottle of lube and applied more to his cock on the out-stroke. Pushing back in, he said, “There, it’s going in nice and smooth, isn’t it?” 

Will gulped. “Uh huh.” 

Hannibal discarded the bottle and leaned forward again, bracing himself on one hand while using the other to stroke Will's cock, which had gone soft quite a while ago. Will wasn't sure he could get hard again, not like this, though it was in no way due to his lack of desire or Hannibal's lack of effort. No simple litany of pelvic grinding for Hannibal; he was using his whole body to service Will, every muscle in his legs, arms, and back stretching and surging. This adoration was appreciated, but suffocating. Will's longing for Hannibal had been real but Hannibal had not been content to merely slake his thirst, had elected instead to glut him with sensation. Will felt wholly consumed; there was just so much happening to his body, he couldn't focus on any one thing. They were breathing in each other’s faces, sweating on each other. The smell of the detergent in the sheets was now overwhelmed by the smell of sweat and pre-come. 

Between panting breaths, Hannibal encouraged Will to touch himself. Will did, replacing Hannibal's hand with his own on his cock, working on getting it at least to semi-hardness. This freed up Hannibal, who sat up straight now, grabbing Will's hips and pulling him more firmly onto his cock, before resuming his rhythm. Now his hands were everywhere again, squeezing Will’s biceps, caressing his chest and belly, cupping the curves of his ass, sliding along his thighs, dipping into the hollows at the backs of his bent knees. He did this over and over, and it occurred to Will that Hannibal was probably mapping his body, building a memory of it. This would be his only opportunity to do so, as soon the police would be here to confine Hannibal to a solitary cell for the rest of his days, at which thought Will felt a pang of sorrow. 

From his now-higher vantage point, Hannibal watched the way the soft flesh of Will’s belly twitched, could see the pulse pounding in his throat. He suspected that Will was holding back, was still afraid of something. He wanted Will to feel secure, to feel that it was safe to lose control. He desperately wanted to watch Will come apart, and so he lowered himself atop Will, holding him tightly in his arms once more, murmuring, “Yes, it’s alright.” 

Will knew he had reached a saturation point, and yet he could not figure out how to bring it to a conclusion. Hannibal continued to encourage him, telling him, “It’s supposed to feel good. Let it feel good.” Will squeezed his thighs around Hannibal's waist, straining to find that thing that would tip him over the edge. “Hannibal,” he panted, and Hannibal lifted his head to gaze into Will's eyes, saying, without speaking, _Tell me what you need. I'll do anything for you_. His hips churned, his fingers clutched; Hannibal was using everything except words, now, to beg Will to come. But what might have been helpful was if Hannibal stopped focusing so hard on making it happen. 

Will opened his mouth to say this, and at first only squeaks and hard breaths escaped as Hannibal assailed him. But just then, Will glimpsed Hannibal's expression, so guileless, so reverent, and he was floored, forgetting his frustration as his gaze jumped from Hannibal's lustful, parted lips to his velvet dark eyes, and instead he blurted out, “I love you.” 

Hannibal's eyes slid shut as he climaxed in a hard, shuddering rush. His body coiled and quivered, until it was utterly still. 

When he opened his eyes again, he seemed in utter disbelief about what had just happened, as if this had been the first time he had failed at anything. 

“I must apologize,” he said hoarsely, shifting as if to gather himself up again. “I did not intend to finish before you did. Just give me a moment, and I will make sure you find satisfaction.” With reluctance, he tilted his hips until he slipped out of Will, then rolled so they lay side-by-side, each trying to catch their breath. There was some awkward shifting, as neither of them was ready to get settled just yet. 

“Since we have this opportunity,” Hannibal said matter-of-factly, seeming to have recovered his aplomb, “I would be very curious to try it with our roles reversed.” 

Will blinked. “You mean, ah, you want me to...do that to you?” 

Hannibal picked up the bottle of lube. “If you'd like to. Here, hold out your hand.” 

He squeezed a generous dollop of lube onto Will's fingers, then lifted the covers, so Will could get his hand under them without smearing it everywhere. He spread his legs invitingly, using one hand to lift his balls and the other to guide Will's fingers down and below them. When Will found his hole, he froze up, and looked at Hannibal like he wasn’t sure what happened next. Hannibal tilted his head, as if to say, _Go on_. 

So Will pushed. Hannibal pushed back, and Will's finger went right up. Will made a noise like he'd been socked in the gut. 

“More,” Hannibal said. Will sank his finger in deeper and then another, marveling at the feel of that powerful muscle. 

“Alright.” Hannibal cupped the back of Will's head to direct him. “Now kiss me.” 

Will did as he was told, giving Hannibal deep, open-mouthed kisses, which sent shockwaves through both their bodies. It made Hannibal's hole clench involuntarily around Will's finger. When Will felt it, he jerked and gasped, his eyes wide. “God,” he whispered, “I want to feel that on my dick.” 

Hannibal smiled, the way he always did when Will's id did the talking. “You are welcome to mount me whenever you are ready,” he said. 

As soon as Will moved to climb atop Hannibal, he realized how stifling the blankets had become. He threw them back as he placed himself between Hannibal's parted thighs. This was something he'd more or less done before; not with a man, but the basic principle was the same. “Allow me,” Hannibal said, pouring lube into his own hand and applying it to Will's cock. Will's stomach lurched at this standard but reliable stimulation. When Hannibal gave it a last hard tug, Will understood that he was no longer meaning to stroke it, but attempting to draw it nearer to himself. Will helped with this, lowering himself, letting his cock be led to Hannibal's entrance. 

It took only the slightest nudge. Will gasped in surprise as the head popped right inside. But it felt so good, he did not hesitate to push the rest of his cock into Hannibal's hungry embrace. His voice got rough as he said, “Jesus Christ, that's good. You're so _hot_ inside.” 

Hannibal chuckled, briefly, cut off by his own moan of delight at Will driving into him. Hannibal had too much pride to ever betray that he felt pain, but he never hesitated to express how much pleasure he felt. He groaned so deeply, Will felt it in his bones, and answered with his own guttural noises of effort. Will's cadence was wilder than Hannibal’s had been, graceless and fierce. Hannibal adored it. He matched Will’s rhythm, lifting his hips to meet those feral downward drives. Will was being a little rougher with Hannibal than Hannibal had been with him, but Hannibal was clearly delighting in it, grabbing Will’s ass and trying to get him even deeper inside. His grip parted Will’s cheeks, and Will felt the cool air on his still-wet, still-open hole. He was so close to coming, which upset him, because now he would have preferred to go on and on, with his prick sweetly confined and his pleasure being closer to joyful abandon than crushing bombardment. But it was already starting in his toes, shooting up his calves and through his thighs, and in the heat of it, he cried out, without inhibition, “Oh fuck, here it is.” He shot thick and hard, and Hannibal raised his hips one last time to receive it. 

Will trembled and heaved, wracked by the diminishing pulses of his orgasm. He regained his senses while still sprawled atop Hannibal, arms and legs akimbo and making no effort to support his own weight. Hannibal did not seem to mind, though Will could feel that his breaths were short and shallow. He flopped himself, limp-limbed, off of Hannibal, who immediately turned himself to maintain as much skin-to-skin contact as possible. As they cooled down, he tugged the covers back up and over them, but they quickly became overheated again, slipping in and out of their humid embrace, limbs shifting to get to the cool spots beneath the blankets. 

After a while, Will unexpectedly growled in frustration, and Hannibal, taken aback, asked what the matter was. 

“I need to piss, but I don't want to get up.” With a grunt of resignation, he worked his way out of Hannibal’s clutches and left the bed. 

While Will was gone, Hannibal lifted his head and checked the clock. They had more time, but not much; at least, not much that he could be certain of. He sighed as he let his head drop back onto the pillow. 

At this moment, as in every moment of his life, Hannibal felt deeply connected to all the human race’s love and passion…but then again, no; no one had ever before felt what he was feeling now. No experience could ever have been like this one. And if only he was given the chance, the next time would also be utterly unlike, and superior to, everything that had gone before, and so on. No love had been truer than his – and the next time, it would be truer still. 

Will came back to bed with his skin chilled, but Hannibal welcomed him back with a tight embrace. They enjoyed a deep and quiet warmth, which lasted until Will turned his head from Hannibal's chest, so that what he was about to say could be clearly heard. 

“They might be here any second,” he said, not needing to elaborate on who “they” were. “We should get out of bed and be dressed. Unless you want them to find us like this. Knowing you, you probably do.” 

Hannibal nuzzled Will's hair, breathing lightly on his ear. “Maybe I do, indeed,” he said. “You're quite the trophy. But perhaps you don't want to be thought of that way.” 

Will did not reply to this, precisely. Instead, after a long minute of silence, he said, “It, ah…it was really good. We kind of hit a speed bump there, partway through. But that was just our first time. I mean, if we’d had a chance to, you know, get things figured out between us...God, I can't even imagine.” 

Hannibal gave Will a little extra squeeze, to indicate his agreement. “In retrospect, I’ve found it has been much more enjoyable to rescue you, care for you, and make love to you than it has been to harm you. I hope to do far more of the former in the future, and far less of the latter.” 

Will was confused by Hannibal's statement, and pulled away, just enough so that he could look at him. “But...we don’t have a future. Do we? You said this was...” 

“I did say,” Hannibal admitted. “But there's something I wish to show you.” And he reached over Will’s body to the nightstand, where he had left the journal sitting.

 

**Author's Note:**

> berlynn-wohl.tumblr for more of this kind of nonsense.


End file.
